


delicate limbs on blood red sheets

by Michinokao



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Father/Son Incest, Forced Feminization, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Parent/Child Incest, Zuko's like not okay at all, nothing graphic but still, understandably so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michinokao/pseuds/Michinokao
Summary: At age thirteen, Zuko becomes a wife.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 212





	delicate limbs on blood red sheets

Between hearing _you look like your mother_ and _you’re about to become my second wife_ lied three weeks. Three weeks in which Zuko foolishly took pride in the seemingly absentminded notion his dad... _Ozai_ had thrown out. Three weeks in which Zuko had thought he was finally shaping up to be the son the man had always wanted him to be.

Three weeks in which he’d had no idea what kind of monster the Fire Lord truly was.

In hindsight, he would have never set foot into the war council at all. If only he’d known what his heart’s desire to protect the people of his nation would lead to, he’d have never raised his voice and told them he thought it wrong to send a whole division of young starry-eyed soldiers to die for the benefit of another. If only... ( ~~If only he’d have been a better son, then...~~ )

An Agni Kai followed his outburst. And when he turned around on the tribune reserved for firebending duels, whom he saw was not the general he’d offended but his father instead. Zuko’s step had faltered as his eyes adjusted to the image in front of him.

_Cut, cut and the scene changes._

He begged for mercy. He pleaded his loyalty to the Fire Lord.

Ozai had then come closer, placed a hand on his cheek – _lovingly, tenderly_ like he’d never done before – and Zuko had thought... he’d thought “My father loves me, he loves me still!”

Oh, what an idiot he’d been back then.

His father didn’t burn his face. Zuko wished he had.

_Cut, cut and the scene changes._

And he found himself in the Fire Lord’s bed with loose hair, bound limbs and a hazy head that could not grasp a single thought – a head that could only _feel_. It felt. It felt as if it were packed in cotton. It felt _good_. For one moment he’d really thought this deepest level of betrayal felt good.

Who is he kidding here? It was not _one_ moment, no. In all those months (eight? nine? ten? Was it years?) he spent in his parents’ bedroom – the thought sends him shivers down his spine; to think that this had been the room in which his mother and _that man_ had... – his drowsy, tipsy, hazy, constantly _drugged_ mind had made Zuko happy. Happy at being used. Happy at serving the Fire Lord.

“...do you love me now?” he remembers whispering one night after... after something that could never be called anything but wrong.

“Love?” his father had laughed breathily, mussing up Zuko’s long hair roughly, “Don’t be stupid, wife. You are the means to an end.”

Zuko’s head hadn’t processed that cruel answer at all – had gone back to being not-there instead as it was easier and less painful. He remembers smiling. He remembers fire-lit torches and an inability to access his inner flames.

Now he watches the sea. Waves crash against the metal of his boat. Zuko is able to think. Able to assess, to analyze. “Uncle” he says through the bile that’s been collecting in his mouth, “What happened exactly?” Oh, he remembers a lot of it. At one point, Azula had lain in his arms like a child and her cold eyes had been terrified. She was so still. Ozai had declared Zuko to be _her new mother. Aren’t you glad, Azula? Aren’t you relieved? You deserve a mother. Your former brother is a formidable choice, don’t you think?_

 _But, dad..._ she had whispered hoarsely, neither daring to truly stand up against her father nor able to completely keep her mouth shut in this case.

The grin of an utter psychopath. _Have your little mother-daughter bonding. I have work to do._

He’d left them alone in the bedroom – Zuko chained up to the bed frame, Azula limply in his lap. _“It’s okay.”_ he hears himself say serenely to his sister as Uncle Iroh walks to his side. His uncle is keeping his distance. It’s better that way, Zuko tells himself, he’s stained anyways. Not meant to be treated like a nephew after... after whatever the hell happened in those months.

“Nephew” the old man begins wearily, “My broth... Ozai has said you were enjoying a stay at Ember Island after your defeat.”

“Ember Island, hm?” Zuko murmurs more to himself than to Iroh.

“Yes. If I had known what... what he _did_... it’s unforgiveable, my prince.” There is something in his voice Zuko can’t quite decipher but it makes him want to embrace the man. ( _Hug him gently, like the lady you’re supposed to be_ , something dark in him taunts. His brain connects the words with the horrendously nice feeling of being drugged over and over, sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine that awakens the need in him to jump into the deep dark sea below.)

“It can’t be changed.” the boy finally replies after gathering his wits (shoving back his strange forced desires). After a few seconds of quiet, he yet again utters the words: “It can’t be changed.” Most likely, in all honesty, to comfort himself.

“That is... unfortunately true.”

Zuko nods, stares at the sea once again.

Some time passes – he faintly hears his uncle’s heavy footsteps on the metal boat. Then he is alone. Alone with his thoughts.

He remembers the _heat._

Something cracks. Something cracks and he turns around and heads inside to his room. He closes the door and sinks down on the floor. This is... this is all too much.

Everything’s too much.

He thinks of his delicate limbs, spread wide open in a welcoming gesture. He thinks of blood red bed sheets that are like a sea of comforting warm blood, carrying his pale body. He thinks of Azula, of her eyes that couldn’t decide whether they wanted to be empty or crazed. He thinks of the feeling of not being able to _think_ -

and he thinks of the heat. The sweat. The being... the... “means to an end”

Zuko wants to shed his skin. To leave it behind. To start anew. To reset.

But he knows he will always remember his delicate limbs on blood red sheets.

**Author's Note:**

> so I was like: I'm gonna make everyone writhe in disgust and cry
> 
> tumblr: droplet-dread-cat


End file.
